


The Captain's Gift

by Nordhumbrensian



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Not taking this seriously, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordhumbrensian/pseuds/Nordhumbrensian
Summary: @terror_exe: "thomas jopson/edward little, exhibitionism, alternative history - no homophobia, lead poisoning, the Arctic"For theterror_exe flashfest.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames/Henry T. D. Le Vesconte, Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 17
Kudos: 39
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	1. The Navy is not the Army

**Author's Note:**

> I found out about the flashfest, read the tweets, wrote the fic and posted it all in 48 hours to meet the deadline, so it is un-betaed and I apologise for any errors.

The Navy was not the Army, it was important to remember. The Army may have claimed that its Theban Battalions were the pinnacle of fighting excellence, but Francis Crozier personally thought that was total bollocks. If a man could only fight at his best if he was within twenty feet of the man he was fucking, then he wasn’t a very good soldier, was he?

The Navy’s approach was far healthier all round. No particular objection to fucking, but with rules to stop things getting messy with favouritism and the like. So no fucking in the direct chain of command and no fucking aboard ship.

Well. No _obvious_ fucking aboard ship. Discreet “I can pretend I can’t hear the thumping and so I don’t have to discipline anyone involved” fucking was generally tolerated (as long as the participants weren’t in the same chain of command) by all except the most evangelical captains. Those captains tended to be deeply unpopular among their crews. The official record may have stated Captain Jedediah Philminster had been washed from the deck of HMS Inflexible in a storm in 1829, but everyone was damn sure that he had been pushed. The Inflexible’s second lieutenant and ship’s surgeon holding hands for the entirety of the official enquiry hadn’t helped the gossip. 

On long expeditions, “discreet” could become a very broad term. How broad depended on the captain. There were rumours about some that they would turn a blind eye to anything short of a gangbang on the quarterdeck. 

Francis felt that he steered the sensible middle course, neither over-permissive nor overly censorious. If there were men who couldn’t manage without a good hard fuck for longer than a month, better that they got it out of their system. But heaving bodies all over the decks was both bad for discipline and deeply offputting. Most of his crew, good lads and good seamen they may have been, were ugly as fucking sin. He no more wanted to see them in carnal ecstasy than he wanted to see the First Sea Lord sucking off Sir John Barrow. So no intimacy where anyone was likely to get an eyeful, which went for everything from holding hands to fucking. Men were to be in their own bunk or hammock when they were woken for watch, without anyone accompanying them, though no-one would enquire deeply about what might have been going on in the hammock or bunk at other times. 

Thankfully, Sir John seemed to be taking the same tack. Though his Sunday sermons did always have a section where he exhorted his men to “strive to overcome the weaknesses of this earthly flesh”, he seemed to accept that they had not quite yet reached his stage of enlightenment. 

As they faced their first winter in the Arctic it was all going well, except for one problem: Francis’ own damn steward and his first officer. 

Though Jopson was not Francis’ type, he was well aware of the effect that those blue eyes had on other people. Jopson had been kept warm through the Antarctic expedition by a number of different men, and had always seemed sensible about that sort of thing. But now the man was practically mooning over Lieutenant Little. And Little was acting like an infatuated fourteen year old. 

They were technically in the same chain of command, so yes, they should be restraining themselves. 

But this was getting ridiculous. He was sure that it was this nonsense which was giving him the headaches he’d been troubled with on the expedition. 

This evening Sir John and Fitzjames were over from Erebus for dinner, and Sir John was (for the seven thousandth time) recounting all the ways that the people of Van Diemen’s Land had fucked him over, though in slightly politer language than that. Francis could have blocked that out and gone into his now standard daydream about feeding Fitzjames to a group of irate penguins, except Jopson and Little were at it again. 

Little would stare at Jopson as he made his way around the table, expression redolent of a besotted sheepdog. Every so often Jopson would catch Little’s eye, and give a coy smile, sometimes with a flutter of eyelashes. Little would blush crimson and hurriedly look at the table. That lasted about twenty seconds before the staring resumed. 

Around the table Hodgson was watching with a concealed snicker, and Irving looked rather like an irate bearded tomato. Yes, Irving was an evangelical one, wasn’t he? Francis hoped that some time in the ice would soften that some, lest Irving met the same fate as Captain Philminster. But that couldn’t happen if the man died of apoplexy before making Commander, which was looking increasingly likely. 

Francis glanced at Sir John, who was apparently up to the letter ‘G’ in his list of people who had fucked him over. He seemed totally unmoved by the mating dance going on around him. Had he - no. But it seemed to be the case - Sir John had not noticed. Francis watched for a while longer, and was convinced - Sir John saw nothing unusual at events at the table tonight. 

At that point Jopson bent to see to the stove and Little stopped, mouth open, fork half-way to his mouth. 

Oh come on. There wasn’t an arse on earth that justified that much staring.

There was also nothing about the stove that justified spending that much time bent over. 

No, Sir John still hadn’t noticed. And he still didn’t notice when Irving made a strangled ‘glurk’ noise and (apparently) viciously kicked Little under the table, causing Little to drop his fork and then develop a deep interest in the pattern on the tableware. 

Francis looked at Fitzjames, expecting an expression of smug self-satisfaction, or possibly a knowing smirk, but instead Fitzjames’ look was intelligent and considering. Oh, so this was the moment that the git chose to become at least slightly professional. 

Things did not get better over the next few days. It wasn’t like he could ban his steward from his presence when his first officer was around. That would mean no tea and biscuits in meetings. Somehow, despite Jopson and Little circling each other like dogs in heat, they both managed to continue to carry out their duties efficiently. The same could not be said for everyone around them. It was only Irving who was angry, but all the other officers were deeply distracted.

This could not continue. 

But what were his options? He couldn’t order them to fuck, that was against regulations. He wasn’t going to reassign Jopson. Who knew what state his smalls would end up in with an untried steward. He was less attached to Little, but if he sent Little to the Erebus he would get Le Vesconte in return. Le Vesconte was just as annoying as Fitzjames and had an unerring ability to nab the best biscuits. 

It wasn’t like he could discuss this with anyone. Dr MacDonald and Blanky were people he could talk to about many things, but this was command business. Things that he should be able to deal with. Of course he could talk to Sir John, but since Sir John hadn’t noticed anything amiss he could forecast the slightly patronising tilt of the head that Sir John would give, and some lecture about command and morals. He wasn’t having that. 

Oh God. That meant that the only person he could talk to was Fitzjames. 

It took Francis several days to gird his loins for the task of disclosing something to Fitzjames which could be construed as a weakness. Finally, after a dinner on Erebus, he had the opportunity to take Fitzjames aside and request his company for a confidential discussion. Fitzjames had not questioned, merely nodded, and given a very plausible excuse to the company that he and Captain Crozier were going to the hold to settle a dispute regarding the quality of tea on board the two ships. 

Down in the hold they perched on barrels with a lamp between them. 

“I presume that this is regarding Lieutenant Little and Mr Jopson,” said Fitzjames. 

Francis nodded. “Any other voyage and it would be putting up with it for the few weeks until we were next in port, but here…” He sighed. “I take it that it’s too much to hope that you have some easy solution I have not considered.” 

Fitzjames shook his head. “Alas, no, though I have been thinking the matter over for the past few weeks. Reassigning Mr Little to the Erebus would be a solution, but I would be loath to lose Dundy’s company, and we would have to concoct some explanation for Sir John, and I can think of none which would be believable.”

“Tell him the truth?”

“I could not quite believe that he had not noticed, so I have tried some hints regarding the issue in conversation. I am now not only certain that he has not noticed, but that he does not believe that attraction or relations between officers and men are even likely. He actually said, ‘the heart knows its own people’.” 

Francis blinked. “Well.” He really didn’t have anything he could say to that.

There was a long pause before Fitzjames said, “I wish to thank you for taking me into your confidence in this regard. Thinking over this matter has made me consider the importance of our being able to work together.”

Francis was slightly taken aback. “And I should probably thank you for not just having a sharp comeback about the problem.”

Fitzjames made a face. “I hope I’m not that bad.” Francis raised an eyebrow. “About anything serious, that is.” 

“This doesn’t get us any further with the problem though.”

“No, but I will give it my full consideration. I should like to discuss this with Dundy, as well. I find it easy to think in conversation with him.”

Francis was getting the impression that there was more than conversation going on between the two of them, but this wasn’t the moment to say anything. They agreed to talk again at at future point.

A little over a week later, they were meeting in the rather more salubrious surroundings of the Erebus’ ward room, with Le Vesconte prowling the corridor to ensure that they were not disturbed by anyone. 

Fitzjames pushed a book across the table to Francis, with a definite smirk on his face. 

_Customs and Traditions of the Royal Navy, both Ancient and Modern._

There was a bookmark in it. Francis gave a wary look at Fitzjames before opening and reading. 

_The Captain’s Gift. A custom of ancient provenance (though claims of Classical or Biblical origins are probably false), this fell out of favour after the reforms of the Seven Year’s War. Careful reading of Naval regulations suggests that it is still permissible, and the last known instance was aboard HMS Unlikely in 1781. Should the Captain of a ship find that there is affection between two on his ship (and practice suggests that this includes not only crew but any passengers aboard) which has not been expressed, he may invite the parties to do so in his presence. This is by no means an order, and may be declined without consequence; however, should the parties decide to do so, the Captain must afterward present them with a gift. The meaning of this is debated…_

Francis looked up. Fitzjames’ smirk had grown wider. “Reading other parts of the book and considering the author’s use of euphemism, I am certain that what it actually means is that you can invite them to fuck. Apparently for your entertainment.”

“No.”

“They are both really quite pretty, I don’t think it is much of a hardship.” 

“You would not be the one who had to look them in the eye afterwards.”

“Oh yes I would, because I would absolutely be inviting myself along for this.” His smile was open and unashamed. “Personally I would think that the most difficult part of the whole enterprise would be finding an appropriate present.” 

“And I presume that you have discussed this at length with Mr Le Vesconte.”

“Who is also inviting himself.”

“This is below the dignity of senior officers.”

Fitzjames leaned back and looked more serious. “Your objections would have more weight if either of us had any better ideas. Is this really worse than living like a minor character in a dreadful romantic novel?” 

Francis humphed. “I want to see if I can think of something better first.”

“Understandable.” Fitzjames smirked. “But do tell me when you don’t and decide that this is a better idea.” 

It took two weeks for Francis to admit defeat. At least Fitzjames was somewhat gracious in victory, offering commiserations and enquiring if there was anything he could do to make the whole experience any less difficult. 

“Let’s just get it over with as soon as possible.”

Arrangements were made for Fitzjames and Le Vesconte to come over to Terror (and annoying as they were, this was far better than doing this alone) at a point when Hodgson would be out on watch, and Irving safely ensconced in a hut some way from the ship doing magnetic observations. 

Drinks were poured, and with Jopson safely out of the room, Fitzjames dropped both the book and a jar of wool grease on the table. 

“Oh no,” said Francis. 

“I believe that enthusiasm should be encouraged rather than discouraged,” said Fitzjames. “Now, shall you do the talking or shall I?”

Francis sighed. “I’ll start talking, you take over when I lose the will to live.”

Little and Jopson were summoned, and when Francis asked Jopson to lock the cabin door Little’s expression started to slide from worry toward panic. The two of them stood expectantly at the other side of the table, and dear god he was actually going to have to say this wasn’t he? 

“We have asked you here because the behaviour of the pair of you is distracting my officers, reducing the efficiency of the ship and might kill Lieutenant Irving. After much discussion we have decided to revive an old Naval tradition.” Francis nodded to Fitzjames, who slid the book across the table. 

Little picked it up and opened it at the bookmark. Jopson stepped nearer to read at the same time. Francis saw Little’s eyes widen, and the man looked first at Jopson and then at the men seated at the table. Little opened his mouth and shut it a few times. Jopson looked calm and serene, but that meant nothing. 

Fitzjames was grinning. “The affection between you has most emphatically been noticed, and your Captain is offering you the Captain’s Gift, gentlemen.” 

Little practically dropped the book on the table. Francis was sure that he would bolt, but Jopson gently put a hand on Little’s sleeve. “The tradition says it is not an order and may be declined, sir.”

One moment Little was staring at Jopson’s hand on his sleeve, the next the two men were kissing with desperate fervour. 

Oh. Well, that had been easy. His preference would have been to slip out and leave the two of them to it, but he was sure that Fitzjames and Le Vesconte (who were well settled in and looked to be enjoying themselves) would stop him. 

At the other side of the table things were starting to get complicated, as they generally did when two people tried to remove each other’s clothes without removing their tongues from each other’s mouths. There was a moment when Little managed to pop one of the buttons from Jopson’s waistcoat and Jopson paused to give him a disapproving look. It wasn’t a very long pause.

A Captain should not know what his first officer’s erect cock looked like, Francis felt sure of this. Nor his steward’s. But what had been seen could not be unseen. 

He was distracted from this train of thought by a warm hand on his thigh. Fitzjames, owner of the hand was smiling at him; not a smirk, but an invitation. Francis noted that Fitzjames’ other hand was on Le Vesconte’s thigh, and Le Vesconte’s hand was sliding up Fitzjames’ thigh towards his groin. 

Francis was only human, and it had been months since he’d shared his bed with anyone. His head might have been thinking some very worthy thoughts about command and example-setting, his cock was more than happy with this contact. 

Worthy thoughts could go fuck themselves. 

He put his hand out and squeezed Fitzjames’ thigh, somewhat more roughly than he intended. This however produced a very interested noise from Fitzjames, which was a piece of information worth remembering. 

Le Vesconte leaned forwards and flicked the jar of wool grease across the table, where it hit Jopson on the thigh, causing him to break from rutting momentarily. Jopson looked down, smiled and picked up the jar to show it to Little, who made a noise close to “meep”. 

Francis was a little unclear about what the two of them did next, distracted as he was by Fitzjames unbuttoning his trousers and getting a firm grip on Francis’s cock. Francis reciprocated, ably assisted by Le Vesconte (a good thing, as unbuttoning trousers one-handed was more difficult than Fitzjames made it look). Fitzjames’ cock was long and lean, like the man himself, meaning that there was enough room for both Francis and Le Vesconte to make themselves useful.

Fuck regulations, fuck chain of command, even fuck the fact that Fitzjames was a smug annoyance, he hadn’t felt this good in a long time. 

A groan caused him to look at the other side of the table. Jopson was now pressed against the table, being enthusiastically fucked by Little. Jopson was the picture of debauchery, head back, hard cock framed by the white of his shirt, making tiny encouraging noises to each of Little’s thrusts. 

Fitzjames’ hand was doing wonderful things to Francis’ cock, and this was going to be over too soon. Sure enough, as Fitzjames curled his fingers around Francis’ shaft while rubbing his thumb over the head of Francis cock, Francis was spending, coming so hard that his toes curled in his boots and his release splattered the table.

The others were finding their own release in short order, with various groans and gasps. There were long moments as everyone got their breath back, then some fumbling for handkerchiefs as they all made some effort to clean themselves up and redress themselves. 

Fitzjames gave Francis a meaningful look, and Francis sighed and reached behind him for a small tin of barley sugars, which he slid across the table to Little and Jopson. 

“Um. Thank you, sir,” said Little. 

Francis waved a hand. “Dismissed, both of you.” 

When the two of them had left, Francis looked at Fitzjames and Le Vesconte, who were both looking rather like the cat that had got the cream. 

Fitzjames glanced at Le Vesconte, who gave a rather filthy smile. Fitzjames turned back to Francis, and laid a hand on his thigh again. “I may have intimated to Sir John that we would spend the night aboard Terror, and I may have some suggestions as to how our time could be most usefully spent.” 

Oh, why the fuck not. “Suggest away, Mr Fitzjames.”


	2. I love it when a plan comes together

Later that evening, after a dinner during which Irving had looked distinctly suspicious of the new bonhomie between various officers, Edward and Tom were lying together in Edward’s bunk, naked, sated and sticky. 

“I honestly never thought it would work,” said Edward. 

“If it hadn’t we’d just have had to try something else,” said Tom. “And you played your part beautifully.” 

“I wasn’t acting. I just restrained myself less than I would have otherwise.”

“You would watch my arse like that all the time if you could?”

Edward squeezed Tom’s arse. “I would do more than that if I could, as I thought I had amply demonstrated.” He paused. “Is that book real?”

“Yes. The tradition’s real too. I did a lot of reading when I was laid up with my leg.”

“Not just the prettiest face in the Navy. But the chances of Mr Fitzjames finding it in Erebus’ library-”

“Were greatly increased by Mr Bridgens leaving the book on his bunk with a bookmark in the appropriate section.”

“Oh. Do pass on my thanks to Mr Bridgens in that case.”

“Passing on a gift-wrapped Mr Peglar for a night would be more appreciated, I think.”

“If you or he can think of an excuse which will not cause Sir John’s suspicions to be raised, I will authorise it.” Edward gently ran his fingers down Tom’s side. “I had not known if I would truly wish it when it came to the reality of being watched-”

Tom gently kissed him. “And should you have not wished it, I would not have thought less of you.”

“But I did. To be watched like that was… thrilling.”

“Tis a pity that we cannot use the same ruse again. Or that whatever ruse we came up with, we would not be able to try it the other way.”

“But if we could…”

“I would happily fuck you in front of the whole ship’s company.”

“Perhaps not the whole ship’s company. Some of them are quite odd.”

“Just the officers then?”

“Except Mr Irving. I think he would have an apoplexy and I don’t want that on my conscience.”

Tom rolled them so he was lying on top of Edward, their hardening cocks pressed against each other. “So we would have all the officers, apart from Mr Irving, around the ward room table. Including the Captain, of course, and invite Mr Fitzjames and Mr Le Vesconte, as they so enjoyed us today. I think I would have you on your back, naked and spread for me.”

Edward groaned as Tom gently pushed up one of his legs in demonstration. “And you?”

“I think I would keep my clothes on, just open my trousers to fuck you.” That earned him another groan. Tom reached over to dip his fingers in the jar of wool grease that was still open on the shelf beside them, then slid his fingers inside Edward’s arse for the second time that evening. Edward moaned as Tom rubbed inside him. “I think if I had you spread for me on a table I would lick you open. Hear you moan for my tongue.”

Edward did moan as Tom kissed him again. Tom continued to finger him, intending to draw this out. 

“Lick you until your cock was as wet as it is now. They’d all have their trousers open and their cocks in their hands already, just at the sight of you.”

“Then fuck me raw, like that?” Edward’s tone was pleading, and if Tom hadn’t been fully hard already that would have been enough to bring him there. 

Tom smiled. “A little oil to ease the way. I don’t want to have to be careful. They’re going to watch me fuck you hard and deep.” 

“ _Please._ ”

Edward was still wet and relaxed from the last time Tom fucked him, and it felt like his cock was welcomed inside. He wanted to just start fucking him hard, but stopped himself. Talking Edward into being a moaning, begging mess was a pleasure all of itself. 

“All of them watching you with my cock this deep inside you. Watching you press into me because you want every inch of it. Watching you so desperate to be fucked.” Edward made a pleading noise in the back of his throat, which made Tom roll his hips without even meaning to. “But I should make you beg in front of them.”

“Pleasefuckmeplease-”

That was too much for Tom to keep teasing, and he started fucking Edward, pushing his legs up and out, so that Edward was almost folded in half, just so Tom could fuck him harder and deeper. Edward was making pleading and encouraging noises, looking so far gone that Tom thought he was going to-

Edward arched up with a cry and spent between them, cock untouched, fingers digging into Tom’s hips, and squeezing down on Tom’s cock. The sight and sensation were too much, and two more stuttering thrusts and Tom was coming too. 

They caught their breath, and snuggled together stickily. 

Edward kissed Tom’s cheek. “I like the Discovery Service.” 

In the cabin next door, Hodgson was wiping the mess of his release from his hand with a handkerchief and feeling well-disposed towards the universe in general. The conversation he had just listened to meant that Little and Jopson were more than happy to be watched as they fucked, so the past months of his auditory voyeurism no longer had to play on his conscience. He might even be able to ask if he could actually watch, though he had no idea how to start that conversation. Perhaps he could write them a note. 

And in Crozier’s cabin a lot of work was being created for Jopson. In the morning there would be not just despoiled sheets to deal with, but also evidence of carnal passion to clean from floor, walls, ceiling, assorted furniture, and a volume on magnetism and navigation whose author would not have been pleased to find the purposes it had been put to.


End file.
